o was a widow, and had three children, and
the rheumatism besides, and did washing for the tradespeople on Halsted
Street at prices it would break your heart to hear named. Aniele had
given the entire profit of her chickens for several months. Eight of
them she owned, and she kept them in a little place fenced around on her
backstairs. All day long the children of Aniele were raking in the dump
for food for these chickens; and sometimes, when the competition there
was too fierce, you might see them on Halsted Street walking close to
the gutters, and with their mother following to see that no one robbed
them of their finds. Money could not tell the value of these chickens
to old Mrs. Jukniene--she valued them differently, for she had a feeling
that she was getting something for nothing by means of them--that with
them she was getting the better of a world that was getting the better
of her in so many other ways. So she watched them every hour of the day,
and had learned to see like an owl at night to watch them then. One of
them had been stolen long ago, and not a month passed that some one
did not try to steal another. As the frustrating of this one attempt
involved a score of false alarms, it will be understood what a tribute
old Mrs. Jukniene brought, just because Teta Elzbieta had once loaned
her some money for a few days and saved her from being turned out of her
house.

More and more friends gathered round while the lamentation about
these things was going on. Some drew nearer, hoping to overhear the
conversation, who were themselves among the guilty--and surely that was
a thing to try the patience of a saint. Finally there came Jurgis,
urged by some one, and the story was retold to him. Jurgis listened in
silence, with his great black eyebrows knitted. Now and then there would
come a gleam underneath them and he would glance about the room. Perhaps
he would have liked to go at some of those fellows with his big clenched
fists; but then, doubtless, he realized how little good it would do him.
No bill would be any less for turning out any one at this time; and then
there would be the scandal--and Jurgis wanted nothing except to get away
with Ona and to let the world go its own way. So his hands relaxed and
he merely said quietly: "It is done, and there is no use in weeping,
Teta Elzbieta." Then his look turned toward Ona, who stood close to his
side, and he saw the wide look of terror in her eyes. "Little one," he
s